“I’d like to see him.” Raine’s voice was properly subdued, considering the circumstances, but she sounded as if she thought that request to be reasonable.
“You want to see my grandfather?” Claire obviously couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “Do you have any idea—”
“He’s only allowed one visitor per hour. On the hour,” Griff intervened. “And for only ten minutes.”
“That would be more than enough time,” Raine said. “Any time at all, actually—”
“Only family is allowed in the room,” Claire snapped, making no pretense of politeness this time.
Raine smiled at her, apparently willing to overlook her rudeness. “You’ve had him your entire life, Claire. Surely you can spare me ten minutes.”
“Just who the hell do you think you are?” Claire finally exploded, her face flushed and angry.
“His daughter,” Raine said.
THE CALM BEEP of the monitors and the low light of the glass-walled cubicle were soothing after the tenseness of the scene in the waiting room. She should have been able to handle that better, Raine thought. Despite the number of times she had tried to imagine a meeting with her father’s family, nothing had gone as she’d expected.
She was genuinely sorry to have caused Claire more distress, but she hadn’t seen any other way to respond to what she believed was her father’s convoluted method of reaching out to her.
When it had become clear Claire was determined to keep someone who had been a mere employee from seeing her grandfather, Raine had felt she had no other choice than to claim her rightful place at his side. And, of course, it would all have to come out eventually.
She supposed she should be thankful Claire’s mother hadn’t been here. If it was that difficult to learn that you had an aunt you’d never known about, how much more startling would it be to discover the existence of a half sister? One that no one had bothered to tell you about. Not even your father.
She forced her eyes away from the digital display to watch the even rise and fall of Montgomery Gardner’s chest. The ventilator breathed for him, its slow rhythm almost mesmerizing.
She stepped nearer the bed as the nurse pulled the curtain closed to give them a modicum of privacy. For a moment the features of the man in the narrow, railed bed were unfamiliar. Almost alien.
Not only were the tubes and wires distracting, the signs of the attack he’d suffered were brutally clear. Blood had pooled beneath the thin skin under his eyes, blackening both of them. The gash on his forehead had been neatly stitched, but it was long and swollen.
She resisted the urge to touch his cheek, putting her hand on the top of his wrist instead. His skin was cool and dry.
Too cool? she wondered, but the steady blip of the monitor reassured that sudden fear.
He was holding his own, Cabot had said. And he would, as long as he has to, his granddaughter had added.
In spite of those determinedly optimistic evaluations, the old man’s strength was nearly at an end. Raine had known that, as far away as she had been. Throughout today’s journey she had sensed that he was almost too tired to fight anymore. So very tired of it all, she thought, running her fingers along his forearm, which was nothing but skin and bones.
Maybe that’s why he had sent for her after all these years. Because he was tired of seeing everything he had devoted his life to endangered. He wouldn’t have told them that, of course. He would never reveal that much of himself or his feelings.
Instead, he had dispatched Ethan Snow with the suggestion that she could help if they would contact her. And at one time that might even have been true. Now, however…
“Why didn’t you send for me before?” she whispered, bending to put her mouth near his ear.
There was no reaction. His eyelids, their thin blue veins visible beneath the fragile skin, never moved.
All these years she had waited, respecting his wishes. Until today she had never demanded his attention, never approached any member of his family, never interfered with their lives in any way.
For a year after his wife’s death, which she had read about in the papers, she had waited for him to call, believing that now he would finally acknowledge her existence. Apparently he’d decided that would still be too traumatic for the remaining members of his family. Judging by Claire’s reaction, he had been right.
She was sorry she’d broken the news so abruptly. Cruelly, she admitted, but she truly believed her father wanted to see her. If he hadn’t, why would he have given Ethan Snow her name?
Besides, if she hadn’t revealed their relationship, his family would never have allowed her into this room. If the doctors were right, and there really was so little time…
She bent closer, her lips parted to speak to him again, and discovered she didn’t know what to call him. She had never called him “Father.” Not aloud. Yet to call him “Mr. Gardner” seemed a denial of all that he had meant in her life.
“I don’t know that I can help your friends. So many things have happened…” She hesitated. That wasn’t something she wanted to share with him. Not now. “But I’ll try.”
For a moment Ethan Snow’s face was in her mind’s eye, his voice passionate, touchingly sincere, as he talked about protecting his country.
Her father shared that same patriotism and dedication. That’s what he had asked of her before. That’s all he was asking now. And she would do the very best she could, despite what had happened in the past.
“I promise you I’ll try.”
This time she leaned forward to press her lips against the undamaged side of his forehead. As soon as they made contact with the old man’s skin, the nearly electric force that had caused the statue of the runner to morph into something else jolted through her consciousness again.
The image was exactly the same. Dark water. Cold and deep and still. And somehow deadly.
Aware this time of what might happen, she instantly began to fight against its pull. She jerked her eyes open and stumbled backwards, bumping into a monitor and sending it rolling away from the bed.
It had been attached to one of the myriad wires, of course. As the connection was disrupted, an alarm sounded, loud and demanding in the quietness.
The curtain behind her was thrown open, and two nurses rushed in. One of them began to adjust the monitor she’d stumbled into, thankfully silencing the alarm, while the other went over to examine their patient.
“I’m sorry,” Raine said. “I backed into one of the machines, and it went off. Nothing’s wrong with my father. It was just an accident.”
The nurse by the bed looked over her shoulder. “You’ll have to leave.”
“But I told you—”
“I’m sorry. You can wait in the waiting room. Someone will call you.”
The nurse who had readjusted the monitor took her by the elbow, directing her toward the curtain.
“Come on, my dear. Better to get out of the way so we can make sure everything is all right.”
She wanted that, of course, but she had the feeling that if she let them send her away, she would never be allowed to return. There were too many things left unsaid.
And too many years during which they might have been said. On both sides.
The drape was pulled closed behind her, and Raine found herself standing alone in front of the cubicle. She thought about waiting out here until they were through, but one of the other RNs from the nurses’ station rose and started toward her.
Raine put her purse over her shoulder and looked at the glass door leading out of the ICU unit. A man waited beside it, his eyes directed not inside, but at the white tile wall opposite him. He stood with his arms crossed in front of his body, the left holding the wrist of the right.
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